


Blood Thicker Than Concrete

by audioanon



Category: Kill la Kill
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:46:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audioanon/pseuds/audioanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck, I'm in hardmode AU hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Thicker Than Concrete

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, uh, triggers, right. So this has some molestation and incest and general sadness, but for me it's pretty benign.

It’s the way the sun catches in the road that makes you notice it. The glimmering water, so blue it actually hurts your eyes to look at it too long, that's what causes the sun to shine so brightly. The long road in the distance, completely laid out in front of you, the line separating north from south, blurred by sunbeams, so much so that it seems as if there is only a single path ahead of you, as if the lines disappear altogether. But you know that’s not true. Cars whirl by, traveling in the opposite direction, and you can’t help the insidious anxiety that creeps up your spine when they approach. The closer you get, the more your stomach drops, until they zoom past you, and even though the windows are rolled up, you can still feel the rush of wind they leave in their wake. You often find yourself wondering where the other drivers are headed, what kind of destination lies in store for them off the road-less-traveled. But, it matters not where they are going. You can only wonder idle thoughts until eventually you arrive at what’s really eating at you. And a long drive without company is the perfect setting to address the thoughts that plague you, like a festering wound left untreated. You don’t want to think about it, because once you start, the onslaught of thoughts pour out of you, and they refuse to leave you alone until you have left no stone unturned.

It starts with your childhood. You haven’t driven this road in so long, the memories that rush back to you are overwhelming. It’s the water. Water like this, so blue and pure, freezing to the touch, it doesn’t exist back home. It’s the water that bring back the memories. Like, how when you were young, your father took you and your sister out to the mossy lake, trying to catch frogs and turtles. The water was so shallow even a child could stand with ease, not reaching up past your knees, and just barely clear enough to see the movement of small creatures just below the surface. It took patience, silence, and concentration, three things you were completely unfamiliar with. Your sister embodied these qualities, and she always ended up with more frogs than you. It made you jealous then, but the most frustrating part was her complete indifference to the activity. You caught frogs to please yourself. She caught frogs to please others.

You remember the beach, misleadingly called “Misery Bay,” where you ran out into the freezing water, so cold that if you stay in too long, you could develop hypothermia. It became a game of who could stay in the water the longest, who could swim out the furthest, and you remember your sister’s eyes flaring up at the challenge. You loved it when you managed to tap her competitive side. More often than not, those competitions ended with family members standing on the beach, yelling and waving their arms at you, trying to signal that you’ve gone too far. But you were never afraid of going too far. You wanted to go, and go, and keep going, until the beach vanished from your vision, and then all you would be able to see was her. But she was always the voice of reason in these times, and would reel you in when you’ve gone too far. When you ended up back on the beach, you would bury each other in the sand, and search the shores for agates. In all your years, you never found one.

You remember the visits to the neighboring harbor town further north. There you would walk the breakwaters, and jump off the ledge, about six feet into the icy depths. For you, the shock of the cold was overwhelming when you jumped in like that, but your sister, she always jumped first. It was her resolve that calmed you enough to jump in second. But, the best times was when you went sailing. The boat, only a forty-footer, was the highlight each and every year of the trip. Working with a family friend and his nephew, the four of you cast out into the open waters. Sometimes, the wind hit just right, and the sails would catch, and you’d feel as if you were soaring. In reality, you were going a mere eight miles an hour. But, it felt so fast, and the rush was unbelievable. Sometimes, however, the waters were rough, and massive swells would rock the boat, sending random items below deck flying. You volunteered to go below to try and stop the chaos, despite adament protests. The rocking below deck was worse, and you ended up getting seasick. The bitter disappointment of having to turn back clawed at your insides, but your sister put her hand on your shoulder and told you it wasn’t your fault. And that cheered you up, at least, a little bit.

You remember the summer before you went to middle school the most. That summer, everything was different. That summer, your cousin joined you. Usually it was just you, your sister, and your father, but this year, your cousin was sent up north, her family deciding it would be a good experience for her. She gave you the creeps. And you could tell your sister felt the same way.

The cottage you stayed in up north was small, only a single bedroom, so you and your sister slept outside in a tent. And, to be honest, you prefered it this way. It felt as if you were camping out every night. You cherished the long talks that came from these nights, and that tent held a special place inside of you. But, this particular summer, your cousin invaded the tent. It wasn’t the same space when she was there. Her presence changed it from a place of safety to a place of fear. The first few nights were alright, though marked by a stark silence. In such a small space, usually filled to the brim with excited whispers, silence was deafening, the contrast paramount. She just oozed creepy, the kind of creepy that is covered with a sickly sweet top layer; it left a bile in the back of your throat. It was unsettling, to say the least. But nothing terrible arose those first few nights. You slept, and she slept, but you ached for the talks between you and your sister. It was midway through the trip that she made her move. You knew something was wrong when you saw that Nui was in the middle, before you and Satsuki slept next to each other, you could see her face. But now, you can’t. You crawl into your sleeping bag, heart racing. Completely cut off from Satsuki, you start to panic. But, you stay silent, afraid of what will happen if you even utter a single word. In front of you, in the darkness, Nui’s back faces you, her frame outlined in the pale moonlight shining through the window. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you lay there, trying to fall asleep but unable to do so. Thinking back, you wonder why you didn’t know what was coming. You should have heard the sound of lips smacking, sounds of muffled shock, you should have heard  _something_. Why didn’t you hear anything? And when Nui turn to face you, you weren’t ready. When she pressed her lips against yours, you froze. You had never kissed anyone before. When you stayed still and did nothing, you could feel her anger, and she slid her hand into your sleeping bag, and you could feel her nails digging into your hip bone. So you kissed her back. You didn’t want to, but you did. You remember when she pulled away from you, the smile that was plastered on her face. You only sent her a bewildered stare in return. And it went on for hours. You had no choice but to comply. At least, that’s what you tell yourself now.

After that night, your whole paradigm shifted. It was as if you no longer existed within the same reality you occupied before. You never said a word while she was there. You didn’t acknowledge it. But, after she left, you recall the moment between you and your sister at the park—it was within walking distance from your house. It wasn’t very large, only featuring a swing set, some monkey bars, and a central hub. You sat on the swing, dragging your feet on the ground, barely moving back and forth. You stare blankly at the water, once a brillant blue, but now, it seemed to have lost it’s shimmer. You turn to Satsuki, and meet her eyes.

 “It wasn’t a dream was it? I want it to be, but it wasn’t. It was real,” Satsuki whispers, her voice only loud enough for you to hear.

“If it was a dream, then we dreamed the same messed-up thing,” you say back starkly, unable to hold back the anger in your voice. Satsuki only sadly nods. She does not cry. And you don’t either. But after that, things weren’t as innocent as they used to be. Everything that followed seemed duller, somehow.

You pause in your pondering, because from here is where the real confusion starts. What Nui did, it was the epicenter, and the ripples it sent out, the aftershock, was so much more difficult to process. It was her fault, ultimately, but from there, it got complicated.

The last night of this particular summer, it rained hard. Sometimes, the storms up north get crazy, but this one was on a whole other level. Rain pounded down, lightning flashed, and thunder boomed. The sensory stimulation was overwhelming, your eyes never adjusted to the darkness, and with each brief moment of light, you saw Satsuki’s face, staring at you, somehow blank and yet also filled with emotion at the same time. No words could have been said over the storm, and to be honest, no words needed to pass between you to know what either one needed. After Nui had left, the sleeping bag made you uncomfortable, the constriction it provided was no longer pleasant, now it made your skin crawl. So, in the darkness, out of the sleeping bag, you reached out for Satsuki, and she reached out for you. Seeking comfort in mutual displeasure, you held her so tightly that night. And that was just the beginning. In the six remaining years you came up to the cottage, it just escalated and escalated. And those summers were the best time of your life.

You remember when you were thirteen, sitting out by a flickering fire, on its last legs, and leaning into Satsuki in the moonlight, kissing her softly—it was so much different from Nui’s kiss. Sweeter, no malice beneath it. You savored it. You remember when you were fifteen, taking the waverunner out into the canal, all the way out to the lake, and finding a private beach, inaccessable from land and water, except for by small craft. You and Satsuki found it together, and made it your beach. You burned so much gas going out there every day, and your dad wondered what out there had captivated both of your interests so strongly. You never told him the reason.

After Nui, she was your first everything. You remember when you were seventeen, you and Sastuki were allowed to take the boat out alone. When your father dropped you off that night at the harbor, telling you he’d be back tomorrow to pick you up, you and Satsuki both could feel the incoming storm. Not a literal storm, but a figurative one. When the two of you were together, it was almost frightening how much your thoughts aligned. And that night on the boat was no different. After everything had been prepared, you finally gave in to each other, you held nothing back. The passion, the hunger, the drive, it was all so sensory and alive. When you slept with her, everything seemed so right. And it made sailing the next day even better. The waters were unusually calm, and the onshore breeze was like a dream. To put it simply, she brought back the joy of being up north.

You only saw each other during the summer. After the divorce, your father had custody of you, and your mother had her. It happened when you were so young, so you and Satsuki didn’t grow up together. You only saw each other for those two weeks in the summer. For ten years, you came up north. A mere twenty weeks together, not even half a year. But you still felt as if she knew you better than anyone else.

You have thought up a million ways to rationalize what had happened those six summers you were together. You didn’t grow up together, you were traumatized, you were young and foolish and—

Whatever the reason, it happened. And the mixture of wrong and right was so muddled you couldn’t see straight. Because even though she was your sister, no relationship you’ve had since her has even close to compared. And you have had plenty in the interim. But no one was quite like her.

After you both went away to college, you lost track of each other. Neither of you had been up to the cottage since you were eighteen. When your father died, you, Satsuki, and your mother were together in the same room for the first time in years. Of course, Satsuki was the one who kept her cool when you realized Nui had attended as well, and, like those summers before, Satsuki reigned you in once again. Your mother noticed the behavior. You saw it in her face—even though neither you nor Satsuki had ever said a word to anyone about what had happened, she somehow knew. After the service, before ultimately parting ways, she left you with only a cryptic hint, barely more than a mumble: “It runs in the family, the Kiryuin Curse.” And that was the last thing you ever heard your mother say.

You always wondered what she meant. But, you stopped yourself before you had thought about it too much. Now, after hours of driving on windy two-way roads through the forest, after dredging up all these other thoughts, you consider it again. You wonder if you and Satsuki were raised apart for this very reason, as if fate decided that if this was to happened then at least give them some kind of out, some way to justify what was to come. In theory, it almost sounded poetic. But, you know that life never works out so simply. It messy, dirty, ugly, and you never get the full truth of anything. One of your sister’s favorite phrases rings through you head—contradiction is truth. Back then, you didn’t really agree with her. Back then, you thought her foolish. But now, you see what she meant by it. The truth is never the full truth, there is always something else, always one deeper level, and the further in you go, the more the truth changes. On the surface, you can think of the relationship you had as just the folly of youth, but, look closer, and there is no folly. The truth is that you loved her in every way possible, and no amount of reasoning can ignore that fact. No matter how fucked up the past was, you loved her. And you still do.

From then on the drive is short. When you approach another car, you ride the bumper, whipping your head to the side to try and pass. If the other side of the road is clear, you jerk into the left-hand lane, and rev the engine all the way up to eighty miles an hour, feeling the rush of passing a car on a two-way road. Before, the thrill would have terrified you, but now, it excites you, the way only she could. You feel power in leading, and watching as the slower car faded into the distance.

Pretty soon, you’re driving up the hill, so clear in your memories, and you reach the apex. From there you can see the expanse of the lake spread out in front of you, and it fills you up with an emotion you can’t quite describe. When you drive into town, you recognize the old structures and take in the new. The ice cream stand you frequented is gone, now just an empty lot. The park is shiny and new, foreign looking. The beach is strangely empty for a day so nice.

You finally reach the cottage after hours of driving. It looks different, and yet strangely the same. You wish you could go inside, but since your father died, it changed ownership, so you can only gaze at it from across the street. Besides, the cottage is not yet your final destination.

The drive to the harbor takes an hour, but to you it feels like a moment. Satsuki is the only thing on your mind. You haven’t thought this much about her in years, and now, thinking about her like this again is almost painful, yet also soothing. After all this time, your feelings for her have not lessened. Not an ounce.

Once you park your car, you get out and stretch your stiff limbs. You wait till the sun sets low in the sky, then you finally muster up the resolve to walk out on the dock. The creaky wood is exactly the same as it once was, and it brings a smile to your face. And then you turn and see her.

How many years has it been? Ten, at least. She looks exactly the same, even with all her hair basically chopped off. You like it short. You’re about to call out to her, and then you see a second woman, much shorter than her with bright pink hair, approach from behind. Satsuki doesn’t notice her at first, but then she turns, a grin forming on her face, and gives the woman a quick peck on the lips. Your breath momentarily hitches, but you shove down the sinking feeling and compose yourself. You know the pink haired woman, Nonon, but still. It hurts nonetheless. Satsuki quickly spots you, and walks out toward the end of the dock, alone.

“Satsuki,” you say, a deep sigh in your voice.

“Ryuko.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, ok, so I guess I was just feeling all the emotion tonight and pounded this out in three hours. I had wanted to write a hardmode fic for so long and finally had an idea for one about a month ago, but it was too difficult for me to write. And now, here I am. I don't think I've ever gotten worked up over a piece, but this one left a sinking feeling in my stomach. Anyways, questions, comments, concerns, whatever, here's my tumblr: http://snarfaty.tumblr.com/


End file.
